Thoughts on Consistency
by The Winged Lion of Coruscant
Summary: He never promises and he always leaves. The Master is nothing if not consistent - and yet the Doctor always fears the worst. Slash - Master/Doctor - that would be Simm/10. Now with a prequel - Out of the Dust.
1. Thoughts on Consistency

A/N: You can read this as a post-LotTL AU or a post-EoT AU. (I personally choose LotTL, because I'm a sucker for those things, but that's just me. ;D) Anyways. A dash of angst and a touch of introspection on the Master/Doctor relationship. Enjoy! (And please review! ;D)

A/N 2: So, I'm about to whine, so skip this if you don't want to read it, but ... This story has 68 unique vistors, 72 hits, and 1 review (the second review - by "drose" - is from my little sister, who I love very much and think was being very sweet when she tried to anonymously review to make me happy, but ...). Please review? Even just tell me you thought it wasn't memorable enough to deserve a rewiew? ;D (UPDATE: ... and we're at 91 hits and 1 review. Please? ;D It's honestly depressing.)

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Thoughts on Consistency

He never promised. That was the worst part: he never promised.

He never promised he'd come back, never gave the Doctor his word that the day would never come when he didn't come back. One day, the Doctor was sure, he would wake up to find that the Master had gone and _wasn't_ coming back this time, leaving him alone, the last of the Time Lords for all intents and purposes. Leaving him not just the last of his species but the last of his kind, because they were the only two of _their_ kind in the entire universe – always had been, always would be.

"You two are an evenly matched pair of pests."

He was nothing if not consistent – always leaving, never promising, never telling the Doctor not to worry, he'd come back. Whenever he left – disappeared off to Rassilon-knew-where, because the Doctor was almost sure that if he tried (and he certainly did), the Master could break all the security protocols and jaunt off to some far-distant planet, some far-distant time, some far-distant galaxy, leaving the Doctor all alone in a too-big bed – the Doctor didn't search for him. Didn't look for him, didn't chase after him. Because that would bring it back to old times, and the Doctor didn't think he could deal with them going back to "old times", now that he'd experienced this.

The Doctor had spent most of his ten lives so far looking for an emotion like this – burning and soothing in turns, all-consuming and yet the Doctor willingly gave himself up, hard and rough and soft and gentle and so very Master …

"Once burned, twice wary" – and the Doctor had been burned too many times to actually believe, whenever the Master was gone, that he'd come back.

It was agony, wandering around the TARDIS – completely aimlessly, all alone, down great big echoing hallways with no one there at the other end. He never went anywhere – didn't do anything – couldn't do anything. When the Master was there, they Saved Planets (which was the same thing as Fighting Crime, except all dressed-up and with nuclear warheads instead of guns). But he'd reached such a level of codependence – because the Master was there and he wasn't alone anymore and now that he'd felt that he wasn't sure he could ever go back to being alone (or _knew_ that he couldn't go back to being alone but was too scared to admit it) – that he couldn't do anything – anything important, anyways – alone. He buried himself deep inside and hoped that the other Time Lord would return eventually and uncover him again, because he certainly couldn't do it.

He spent his time rediscovering old rooms: once he'd found Jamie's (he'd never known the man had so very many different kilts! What did anyone need more than one or two sets of clothing for, anyways?), while another time he'd rediscovered the swimming pool (and spent almost the entire afternoon floating and not listening to anything until his skin was so shriveled up that it hurt). He ate when he was hungry, which was very rarely (he could hear the TARDIS in the back of his mind, scolding him like a concerned mother – she tried to be as helpful as possible, turning practically every other door into the entrance to a kitchen to encourage him to eat).

He did not think about what was missing.

He dreamed about being alone, though – about what it had been like when he was taller with short black hair and a leather jacket and an accent (sweet Rassilon, an _accent_) and there hadn't been anyone else. He wasn't sure how he'd survived like that (he wasn't sure he even _had_). He wondered once or twice per day whether he wasn't just shattered fragments of a person, holding together through some combination of molecular bonds and centripetal force, floating along in a void.

When the Master returned, he was always too relieved to be angry – too relieved to yell at him, tell him to wipe that smug grin off his face, tell him never to leave again, tell him what they both knew (that he'd missed the Doctor _just as much_).

The Doctor knew he was there the second he came back, though, and he raced through the TARDIS to him, drawn to him like light to a black hole, like a plant to the sun, like a moth to a flame, like the tide to the moon. He slumped weakly into an embrace and the Master tutted at him, because _honestly_, Doctor, do you ever _eat_ anything? It's like holding a sword – you have to be careful not to cut yourself on the sharp edges. Just _look_ at you. Letting yourself go while I was gone – you never _could_ take care of yourself alone.

That last one hit too close to home.

And then the Doctor's lips met the Master's and he felt himself reforming, back into a man – back into a Time Lord again, centered around this one point in the universe where they met, defined by each other, creatures of logic and light and rationality and burning, burning passion.

The Master never promised, but he still always came back.


	2. Author's Notes

Strictly an author's note chapter, sorry.

First off: I've put up another story (another sort of vignette-y thing) that can be read as a prequel to this. Explaining the whole "established relationship" thing. Yep. It's called "Out of the Dust". *shameless self-promotion* ;D

Secondly, to address reviews:

Isabix: Aww, thank you very much. ;D That's quite sweet of you.

"Drose": Thanks, sis. ;D

Shadowtheo: Thanks! Yeah, poor Doctor. Luckily, I'm too much of a wimp to write straight angst, so … he gets a vaguely happy ending. Well, as happy as things get for those two, anyways. ;D

Poppaea_sabina: No, I do know Ten has a regional accent (being an American, I can't identify it without the help of wiki, but yes, I know he's got (apparently) an Estuary English accent). ;D It's just not the one Nine had, which was what I was trying for there: the Doctor, making fun of his past selves, because honestly, don't they all do that? ;D I've never seen Ainley!Master, but I've read quite a bit of him (being a bad person who relies on fanfic for most of my OldWho obsession, though I do have some Two and Three now, which is making me very happy ;D), so that could be where it comes from? And I'm very glad you think the voice is on: that's the part that always makes me worry when I'm writing! ;D And "Out of the Dust" kind of explains how they got there, possibly, though you're of course welcome to make up your own mind about that bit. ;D Thanks for reviewing! ;D


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